


May Be Like the Perfect Storm

by lady_ragnell



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Kidnapping, Romantic Friendship, Spies & Secret Agents, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 01:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5766511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ragnell/pseuds/lady_ragnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dutch's latest mission for the RAC goes devastatingly wrong when a figure from her past kidnaps her handler (and best friend) and she has to race to get him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	May Be Like the Perfect Storm

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Violence (not to a canon level, but definitely present), implications of a Black Widow-esque backstory, somewhat ambiguous ending (immediate threat solved, implications of future plot)
> 
> With thanks to **growlery** , whose fault it is that I watched this canon and who gave me the idea for Black Widow Dutch, and as always to **samyazaz** , who is an excellent enabler.
> 
> Title from Tristan Prettyman's "Perfect Storm," which lyrically is [the most Dutch/&Johnny song to ever exist](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/tristanprettyman/perfectstorm.html).

“You've got hostiles coming in,” says the voice in Dutch's ear.

“Don't I always?” Dutch glances around her, but alleys don't have very good sightlines. She loathes surveillance. At least this job seems to be picking up. “I don't have eyes on them.”

“Group of suspicious suits heading your way, and I'm detecting some pretty sophisticated spy tech—Lucy, do you want to dance?”

“Stop flirting with our dedicated AI, John,” Dutch whispers over the sound of Lucy's cheerful confirmation. “How many? Lucy, weapons detection?”

Their voices overlap seamlessly, John's “Five” with Lucy's “Seven silenced weapons, at least as many knives. Would you like to stop surveillance for today, Dutch?”

“For a little inconvenience like that? Always underestimating me, Lucy.” Dutch creeps closer to the edge of the alley. “What do you have for me?”

John hums a little while he collates data. Lucy is silent, most likely in another channel in John's ear helping him disable countersurveillance. Dutch waits. “mostly they seem to be known grunts for the relevant criminal enterprise,” he finally says. “Dressed nice, maybe they're working security for the auction tonight. One face isn't bringing back any pings, but he's obviously highly trained, least weapons of anyone.”

“Interesting. Shall I engage?” She goes up on the balls of her feet. “They know someone is watching.”

“They don't know _you're_ watching. Don't you want to go to a party tonight? All tech that could identify you is now disabled, so you can get away clean.”

Dutch lets a smile cover her face while she begins her retreat. “A party, John? You really should lead with these things.”

*

John is waiting for her when she gets back to headquarters with his usual beam, though it melts into worry within seconds. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Good.”

“Bellus approved the party. It looks like they might be auctioning something a little more interesting than some smuggled luxuries, so you get to put on a nice dress and some specialized weaponry for tonight.”

“You sure know how to talk to a girl.” Dutch drops the flash drive with the results of her morning's work into his palm, and he closes his fingers around it with a brief nod. “And the bad news?”

John starts loading information into his terminal and mutters something mildly flirtatious to Lucy before he turns back to Dutch. “our well-trained friend from this morning isn't anywhere Lucy or I can find. People don't get buried that deep unless they're _really_ official covert agents or pretty much labeled assassins from birth. There isn't even a cover ID for the face. He's a ghost, and if you see him you're supposed to be one too. Even you had a trail and a cover.”

“I'll keep my eyes open, then. I didn't think Jeers had the kind of operation that might support training like mine, much less from birth.”

“My guess is he's lent to them to protect some cargo.”

Some cargo, no doubt, that will be on sale at the auction. How handy. How suspicious. “And Bellus still approved the party?”

“She says our bad decisions are our own. Plus, depending on what's being auctioned, we don't want it out there. Do you want backup?”

“From who, Fancy?”

“Do you want me out in the field with you, Dutch?”

She always does, and she never does. John can handle himself in the field, but Dutch doesn't like him having to use a gun, even if there's no one she would rather have at her back. “No. I know how to blend.”

“You just know I'm so devastatingly handsome in a tux that I would outshine you.” He taps his ear. “Lucy and I will be right on the other end of the line.”

“I would never expect anything else.” John grins, probably at Lucy in his ear. “Now, shall we find me a gorgeous gown to wear to distract this ghost of ours from figuring out that I have training?”

This time, John's grin is all for her. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

*

Dutch knows how to blend with a crowd, and it's mostly by not blending. A stranger trying not to be noticed will always be noticed. A stranger in a gorgeous gown flashing her diamonds around makes people comfortable.

“I am pretty sure Delle Kendry just winked at you,” John says while she's scanning the room. “Your skill finding Bond girls remains unparalleled.”

“Work before play, John, really. Do you see our friend from earlier, either of you?”

“Negative, Dutch,” says Lucy. “There are many trained personnel, but there's no sign in the building of his distinctive weapons signature.”

John hums. “Hold on, I don't like this. Don't seduce any real estate magnates until I've done some research, please.”

“No promises.” Dutch doesn't feel any particular need to flirt with anyone but John tonight, but if there's an invitation, it would be a shame to turn it down. “Any sign of what they're auctioning that could attract such a diverse clientele? I've clocked representatives from at least seven countries, five crime families, and twelve major businesses. And some, like Kendry, came themselves rather than sending a lackey.”

“Nothing yet. I'm tracking chatter, but it's way under wraps. Lucy and I are trying to break some encryption for you. Sit tight. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“Security is tight, Dutch,” Lucy says, more prudently. Dutch has years of partnership to call on in regards to what, exactly, John will do when he's curious or bored. The list is quite long at this point. “They have scans almost as advanced as mine. Watch your weapons.”

“I always do.” RAC is great at stealth technology, but Dutch doesn't rely on that. She spent a long time before the RAC keeping herself safe. “Though I don't like that they have anything close to an AI of your level.”

John makes an unhappy noise. “Neither do I. I'm going quiet for a little while so we can figure this out. Sit tight, and avoid the champagne.”

“Poison?”

“The brand isn't worth it.”

Dutch laughs and acknowledges so she can refocus her attention on the party, and finds within seconds that Delle Kendry has drifted close and is clearly waiting to be approached. Dutch obliges. “Ms. Kendry. It's a lovely party.”

Delle Kendry treats her to a long, slow perusal of everything from heels to hairstyle. “I don't know you.”

“No, but you're quite well-known. I recognized you from your picture.”

“Tell me who you are, then. It's only fair.”

There's no cover for tonight, not really. Even if Dutch was recognized, no one really believes her primary loyalty is to the RAC. Even, sometimes, the RAC. “Dutch.”

“For the nation, or for Duchess?”

Normally, it takes people longer to figure that out. Dutch just smiles and leans in, watches Kendry's gaze lower and come up again. “I suppose you'll have to find out. Care for a turn about the room?”

Kendry must suspect that Dutch is merely a lackey of some organization that wishes to remain anonymous, but to her credit, she doesn't act as though Dutch is beneath her. She takes her arm instead, and starts walking. “All sorts of interesting contenders at this auction, aren't there? I haven't seen Simms since the last time a nuclear component was up for sale.”

“Should you be talking like this to me? For all you know, I work for her.”

“I doubt it. Simms is much too queenly to allow a duchess on her staff. No, you're a contractor, perhaps for a foreign interest.” They keep walking. There's a dark-haired security guard on the far wall who has looked at her five times in three minutes. She doesn't like it. “Or you're a plant, of course. But usually officers of the law can't dress themselves like you can.”

That's a thrust. Dutch parries. “Usually they would send someone like you in wearing a wire.”

“Well, then. It's a good thing we don't trust each other.” Kendry nods at a gentleman across the room. “He's just here because he wants to look like a big player. There's no way he can afford even the starting price. Really, it's too rich for many people's blood, and some are just here to call it an abomination. What about you?”

“Me?”

“Are you here to bid, to pretend to bid, or to predict the apocalypse?”

That's not comforting. John and Lucy had better crack the encryption fast. “Predicting the apocalypse is dull. Bidding, definitely.” From a generous discretionary fund. She won't win, but she'll be a contender. “Maybe we'll be rivals.”

“Maybe if you're _very_ nice to me, I'll let you get closer.”

That would be a kindness, actually. Dutch likes to know what price point she's working at. “You're sure you'll win, then?”

“I have my theories.” Kendry drops her arm. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I see someone I need to speak to, and you know how these little chats are. Privacy is so much cozier.”

Dutch makes the appropriate polite and flirtatious noises and pays very close attention to where she goes and who her conversation partner is—a consigliere from one of the lesser mob families, if she recalls correctly. And the dark-haired security guard is watching again—her, not Delle Kendry. “John? Lucy? Any progress here? I don't want to get caught out and I have eyes on me.”

“Hold on.” John sounds tense. That's no good. He doesn't get tense without reason. “Some issues with alarms.”

“Do I need to get out?”

“Stand by,” says John, but over that, closer, behind her, Dutch hears another familiar voice.

“Hello, Yala,” says Khlyen, and Dutch turns around to face him. “I hope you aren't planning to leave so soon. It's such a lovely party.”

Dutch forces tension out of every one of her muscles and tries on a smile. “I have to say I'm surprised to see you here. There are some people too low for even bottom-feeders like this to consort with. I thought you were one.” John is too quiet. Maybe he muted his comm to swear. He does that sometimes, when a mission is too fucked to salvage. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Do you like my auction? Do walk with me, Yala, you look suspicious just standing there.” Automatic, Dutch takes his arm. It's all too easy to fall into the old pattern. “I'm not sure I'll sell, but I do like to know who's willing to pay and how much. What about you?”

“I think it's bad form to hold an auction and then not bother to sell the attractive item.”

“So you don't know. I wondered. Besides, there's more than one reason for this gathering. My guests and I will leave satisfied, auction or no auction. They'll have made connections and sized up the competition, and I … is young Mr. Jaqobis's voice in your ear tonight?”

Dutch's blood runs cold. “If you touch him ...”

“Why would I have to? No, it's three past the hour, so it should be just about now.”

And sure enough, “Dutch!”, a cut-off shout and a crackle of static and no sign of Lucy at all. Dutch is holding Khlyen's arm so tight her hands are tingling. “If you harm him, harm one hair on his head, I will make you beg for death.”

He removes her hands from his arm with his same old mild smile. “I taught you better than to make threats you can't follow through on. Now, don't you have somewhere to be?”

“What do you want? What do I have to do to get him back?”

“I'm not sure I'll let you have him back at all, he's such a distraction, so I think you'd better start looking.”

Dutch doesn't care if it blows her cover. She runs.

*

Lucy comes back online when Dutch is halfway to John's favorite bolthole (stupid, she should never have let him have a favorite, Dutch knows better). “I have been disabled for twelve minutes and twenty-three seconds. Ninety-two percent recovery. Ninety-four. Dutch, John is gone.”

“I know.” Dutch swallows and wishes her car could move faster. She wishes Lucy were human, with a human's response to things, so they could both rage and scream like Dutch wants. “I'm on my way, and I'll stop to see Pree first. Start collecting surveillance data from the time you missed, see if you can find where they took him.”

“Yes, Dutch. We'll retrieve him.”

Dutch doesn't have a response to that that doesn't feel like the kind of comforting lie people tell children. She keeps quiet instead, until she can pull into the parking lot beside Pree's.

It's the kind of bar that's not a dive through sheer force of will, since the clientele in Westerley District of Quad City is rough and the bar is the kind of dimly lit that invites secrets. Pree is behind the bar when she gets there, watching everyone, wary, and his smile when his eyes light on her is tentative at best. At least his customers aren't the kind to care about her too-nice dress, so she won't be inviting that much suspicion. “The usual,” she says when she strolls up to the bar, and he nods and gets her the soda water. She'll drink Scotch in private, but in public, she likes to keep her head. “Any excitement?”

“I don't rent my storage space out for rough sex.”

“Only the very gentlest kind for your mahogany floors.” She lowers her voice. “Did you see—?”

“Just the thumping.” He lowers his. “I loop the feed when he's in there. Pretty sure they knew it.”

Of course. Khlyen knows everything, knows too much, can predict her every move. Dutch knocks back her soda water like it's a hundred proof. “I'm going in. If I don't page down for something innocuous within twenty minutes, tell them there's a gas leak and evacuate.”

“It's bad?”

“It's Johnny.” Her voice breaks on the word and Pree softens, reaches out as if to hug her. Dutch shakes her head. She can't bear that yet. “Keep an eye on things down here.”

Nobody bothers looking at her as she goes to the back room and climbs to the storage space that John uses as a bolthole, expecting the worst. Maybe not his body, since Khlyen would have mocked her with that, but something nearly as bad.

It's neat, almost tauntingly so. She won't get the satisfaction of righting fallen chairs, refilling overturned boxes. Instead, she goes over the scene collecting samples. She doesn't bother with fingerprints, but there are drops of blood not quite dry and she bags each separately in hopes that John got a few good hits in before they took him. She turns on his monitor and finds it's still focused on her necklace camera, showing the room she's in. She switches feeds, flipping through all the ones he had running. Nothing. Nothing. They rely too much on Lucy, and everything happened during the time she was disabled. Khlyen knows them and their equipment too well, too much.

Dutch calls Pree. “I'd like some chili fries, please.”

“No gas leak?”

“Danger's past. He's gone.” She swallows. “I really do want those chili fries.”

A long sigh over the line, pained. Pree was John's first friend in the city. “I'll send them right up.”

*

“That's not his fucking responsibility, Bellus, and it's sure not his information failure. It's yours.”

There's ringing silence in Bellus's office, no one here to witness Dutch's debrief. Dutch wants to be shouted at for disrespecting her superiors, but even Bellus just gives her a look of terrible pity. The RAC knows Dutch without John. They don't like it any more than she does. “We have all available resources going to bring him in, and you're being partnered with a special agent to take point.”

By all rights, with her eyes and ears missing, Dutch should be grounded. She's pathetically grateful not to be shut out. “The FBI? The RAC doesn't work with outside agents.”

“Special circumstance.” Bellus presses the intercom button next to her desk. “Come.”

The man who comes in screams FBI and ex-military from his cropped hair to his cheap suit to his nice shoes, and it takes Dutch under a second to recognize him as the dark-haired security guard from the party and get her hand on her holster. “Bellus, unless Quantico is letting its agents moonlight as enforcers for the mob, this—”

“I was undercover, part of a fraud investigation for a guest at that party. I've been removed from that detail for this one.”

“I'm taking a chance,” says Bellus. “You're both apt to be loose cannons on this one, but there's no chance either of you will stay out of it, so I'm authorizing it.”

The FBI grunt raises his eyebrows. “Both of us?”

Bellus answers that question, but she directs the answer at Dutch, not at him. “Dutch, I'd like to introduce you to Special Agent D'avin Jaqobis.”

*

The lack of family pictures at John's work station has never felt pointed before. The RAC is full of people who don't like talking about their families, but he's so inclined to decorate, so full of life, that Dutch feels obscurely guilty that D'avin doesn't see his face reflected back next to Dutch's, Pree's, Alvis's, even Bellus's.

“The director said you've had contact with the man who did it,” D'avin says eventually, eyeing the digital frame that scrolls through part of Lucy's base code—her baby picture, John always calls it.

“You could say that. He trained me.” She's not sure whether the look he's giving her is angry or pitying. It might be both. “It's my fault. He was at the op last night, he'd arranged it, and he told me Johnny is a distraction and had him taken. So if you want to blame me, do it.” She never swore to protect him, not with the lives they lead, but she _wanted_ to.

“I don't have a right to blame you,” he says, and it's even honest. “What did he train you to be?”

A red box, and a weapon that wouldn't allow her to keep her distance. “A killer.” She swallows. “John saved me. I'm going to save him this time.”

D'avin finally turns away from John's desk with a painfully familiar quirk of eyebrow. “He told me he had a cushy tech support job.”

“He told me his brother was still overseas.”

D'avin nods and wheels back to face Lucy's picture frame. “Tell me about that code.”

“It's the bare bones of what became our dedicated AI. She's cleared to be mission control when Johnny is in the field, the only AI to have earned the honor.”

He taps the frame. “Are you certain?”

*

“Lucy, I'm scanning you some photos. Please analyze and confirm that all code present is in your databanks. The information is from a digital picture frame. Can you interface with that, in case there are hidden files?”

“Files received, Dutch. Unknown operator present. Privacy protocols in place.”

Dutch sighs. “Operator identity confirmation: Special Agent D'avin Jaqobis. Acknowledge as teammate for the length of this mission.”

“Confirmed. Welcome, Special Agent Jaqobis.” If an AI can sound chilly, she does. “Dutch, all code is present in my data banks and is enough to enact a backup of my prime functions. Can you plug me into the interface?”

Dutch runs a cord from the mobile interface she's using to speak to Lucy into the frame. “Let us know what you find.”

A hum of processors. “Encrypted data present. John didn't use any of the languages I know. It will take an estimated two point three hours to decrypt. Would you like me to do it?”

John doesn't have many secrets from Dutch, much less from Lucy. Whatever this is, he wanted it private, but he cared enough to keep it close. There's a chance it could help, even if it makes him angry. “Do it. Let me know when you've done it, priority two.”

D'avin clears his throat. “I'll start canvasing the area where they took him, look for footage or witnesses. I know the city well enough to map some potential routes.”

“I have a source with his ear to the ground. I'll send you out with a link to Lucy. Be cautious. Khlyen is smart, and he has more information than he should. I don't want two of you to rescue.”

“I'll be careful.”

It's probably a lie. It's always a lie with her, and with John, and with most other agents at the RAC. It still gives her enough plausible deniability to commit to her mission without bothering her conscience. “Then we'll meet back here if we both finish before Lucy finishes decrypting, or we'll conference over the comms and figure it out from there.”

He gives her a sharp nod. He's so disconcertingly unlike John, for someone who's so disconcertingly like him. John hasn't mentioned D'avin to her much, barely mentions his existence at all, and Dutch doesn't know what to do with the fact that he's here, working this mission with her. “Keep in touch. Let me know if you find any leads that will help focus my search. She'll contact me once it's decrypted?”

“Yes. You're on the team now and it's a team-relevant briefing. Ask her for help with traffic cameras, if you'd like. She's good at that sort of thing.”

With that, and all the awkwardness of their shared connection drawing out between them, Dutch turns on her heel and goes to gear up to go out into Westerley.

*

Alvis is never hard to find when she's looking for him. Dutch is pretty sure he sleeps rough, but it's not something she asks him, because it's not something he wants her to know. No matter where he sleeps, he always seems to turn up sitting quietly on the sidewalk on some out-of-the-way street less than three blocks after she gets out of her car and starts looking for him.

Usually, she asks to walk and talk. Today, she sits down on the sidewalk next to him and ignores his startled look. “It's John,” she says. “I'm willing to owe you a very big favor for his sake.”

He reaches out and clasps her wrist, not tight enough to feel constricting, just enough to make her eyes well up. “What do you need?”

“He's been taken. I know when, and I know by whom, but I don't know where. They disabled our surveillance. Have you heard anything about a transport van, probably big enough for a team of at least four plus a hostage, last night around eleven?” Khlyen's men will be too well-trained to be suspicious drivers, so the police and surveillance won't catch them. Alvis and his network will be much more likely to have answers that she needs. “Or anyone out of place poking around Pree's?”

Alvis takes his time thinking. “I wasn't out last night,” he finally offers. “But I've seen a man around Pree's a few times. He always had legitimate business, but he was never dressed quite right and he was always looking a little too carefully. I assumed he was a thief, or one of your types.”

“If you see him again, let me know.” Dutch doesn't like coincidences, and she's thinking of the man who isn't in any government records at all, who wasn't at the auction last night that she saw even though she was expecting him to be. He could be one of Khlyen's, a more successful experiment than Dutch herself. He could have been on the team that took John. She doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but it's a possibility.

“I will.” He squeezes a little. “What else can I do?”

“I'm not sure. I know the man who was behind this, and it's a play for me, a taunt. I'm not sure he'll care about preserving John's life.” She draws up her knees when someone walks by and looks at them both, mildly disgusted. “I'm not sure why he's chosen now to try to bring me back into the fold, but he knows me too well, knows all our systems and procedures too well. You're outside of that. You could help.”

“If I see anything, I'll let you know. That's a promise.” He lets her go. “He knows you well, and he wants you to come back to him, in whatever way, probably willingly.”

“He didn't explain his endgame, but I would be shocked if that weren't it.”

Alvis lets the pause draw out. “If he knows you so well, he'll know that you would never forgive anyone who hurt Johnny, let alone killed him. He may tease you, but Johnny Jaqobis is still alive.” He sighs. “Just don't go trading yourself for him. He'd burn the city down to find you just as much as you'd do for him.”

Dutch doesn't see much use in denying it. “I won't let it come to that.”

“Dutch,” Lucy says in her ear, and Dutch sits straight up at attention. Alvis notices, of course, and looks away to give her some modicum of privacy. “Video file decrypted. Please let me know when you have access to a screen and the time to watch a video approximately three minutes in duration.”

“Acknowledged. Not yet. I'll keep you apprised as to my status. Have you told D'avin?”

“You're mission leader. Would you like him to see it?”

He has a right. Not more right than she does, she won't pretend to feel guilty on that front, but a right. “Yes, but we don't need to meet for it. I suspect we'd both like to see it alone. Over.” She looks back at Alvis. “You know how to find me, or you can leave a message with Pree. Stay safe. Khlyen is dangerous, and I don't think he knows about you but you should be cautious anyway.”

“I can take care of myself,” Alvis promises, and she even believes him.

*

“If you're watching this,” John says on her screen, “things have probably gone to shit.”

He's wearing a shirt he only got a few months ago. This is recent, and the picture frame has been at his work terminal almost since he took over Lucy's programming. Perhaps he updates it periodically, the way Dutch does her hard copy instructions for what to do in the event of her death or disappearance.

“Maybe I'm dead. Maybe I'm missing in an op. Maybe I disappeared to a desert island, but if I retired that quick I probably would have taken Dutch with me, and Dutch, you're probably the one watching.” He sighs, scrubs a hand across his eyes. He's in the upstairs room at Pree's. She recognizes the color of the smudged paint. “So, Dutch … I'm sorry. Whatever happened to me, it's not your fault, I promise, and I don't want you to wear yourself out on this. If I'm dead, I'm dead. If I'm missing, you quit when Bellus tells you.”

He knows she won't. He must know she won't. Dutch can't bear the thought of John waiting in some kind of prison of Khlyen's devising with the expectation that she wouldn't move heaven and earth to find him again.

“But if I'm missing, I've got a couple ways to maybe make your search easier. Go to my secondary apartment, closet in the spare bedroom, top shelf on the far right side. There's a flash drive embedded in the wall. It's got my will, some last-wishes type of shit, and the information for the subdermal tracker I put in myself last year.”

A tracker. John planted a tracker on himself, not just the standard ones they wear whenever they're in the field, but one in his skin, and Dutch could cry with joy. It's not certain that it will work, that Khlyen won't have found it, but it's not on any official RAC files. She may be able to find him.

“It's pretty low-signal, less likely to be detected by whoever's got me, so if I'm far away or caught in a mess of other signals it might not get through, but I figure it's better to go on than nothing.”

It is. She's going to scream at him for not telling her about it, because he could trust her with the knowledge even if he doesn't trust the RAC with it, but she's going to kiss him for it first.

“And, okay ...” He sighs, looks away from the camera. There's a brief cut in the footage. “Dutch. I really hope it's Dutch watching this. If you aren't Dutch, or Lucy I guess, I recommend you stop watching here.” He pauses, like he's waiting for someone to turn the feed off, and he's a little embarrassed, maybe, about whatever it is he's going to say next. “Okay. Dutch—Lucy, if you're listening. None of this is your fault, whatever happened to me. I chose everything I did, and I wouldn't change it for the world. I know we don't say this, but I—”

“Lucy, abort playback,” Dutch chokes out around the lump in her throat, and the screen pauses on John's earnest expression, his cheeks pink.

“You don't wish to see the last forty seconds of the video?”

“Summarize?”

“Primarily a reiteration of what came previously, with some more specifics of what should be in the files he mentioned, some of it specifically about me.”

Dutch takes a deep breath. “Then no, I don't want to see it, thank you, Lucy. Did D'avin watch the whole thing?”

“He stopped where John requested it.”

Good. It makes her like him, that he doesn't feel he has more right than she does to John's words. “Please give him the address of John's secondary residence and tell him that I'll meet him there in approximately twenty minutes, and that if he arrives before me I would prefer that he wait to open any files until I'm present.”

“You are only twelve minutes from John's secondary residence. Are you sure you want me to give that as your ETA?”

“Yes, damn it,” says Dutch, and tears her ear piece out to go breathe in the bathroom for a few minutes. She can't trust herself to drive when her hands are shaking.

*

D'avin is waiting at John's kitchen table when she gets to the apartment, sorting through his junk mail. John's forever getting signed up for catalogs and charity mailings, and he has them all sent to his secondary address, so his kitchen table is usually piled high with things he hasn't managed to sort yet. The kitchen is all his second favorite foods, the furniture either worse or better but less comfortable than what Dutch sits on when she spends an evening with him. It's an odd space, there mostly for people he doesn't trust as much to visit him in.

When she looks, D'avin seems to be toying with an opened envelope, in the kind of color that screams it must have been a Christmas card. His own, she thinks. John's brother doesn't have his real address. Dutch decides not to mention it. “Thank you for waiting.”

“I think he'd rather have you vet the files first,” says D'avin, and she feels sorry for him and his obvious hurt, but she doesn't have the time to say so right now.

Instead, she nods crisply and starts walking to the bedroom. “We won't open some of the files—I'm trying to preserve his privacy as much as I can, anyway. We'll open whatever files he has on the tracker he mentioned, and I'll have Lucy do a scan for other useful data with privacy protocols intact, and we'll see what we can find from that before we go hunting for his will or his last letters or anything like that.”

“Did your source have anything?”

“No, but he'll keep his eye out. He sees a lot. Did canvasing turn anything up?”

He shakes his head and finds her a box to stand on when she opens the closet in the bedroom and discovers that the shelf is too high for her to reach. “Lucy found some promising routes, but she picked them on the basis of how little traffic footage there is in those areas. I'm still asking around, I'll go back to that when we're done here, if the tracker doesn't work, but for now this seemed like the priority after seeing that video.”

Dutch shifts some boxes around and, sure enough, finds the drive sticking out of the wall. John actually embedded it in the plaster somehow, and the wall is shared with the apartment next door. Goodness only knows what they thought he was doing. She pulls Lucy's mobile interface out of her pocket and turns the audio on speaker. “Lucy, I'm going to plug your interface into John's drive. Please download all files but prioritize access to ones that have to do with the tracker. D'avin, John's got some burner laptops in tub under his bed and he usually puts my biometrics in, grab one, would you?”

He shuffles around behind her while Dutch listens to Lucy give quiet updates on how many of the files she's transferred, until she says she's done and Dutch can disengage her and step down. D'avin is sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room, one of John's laptops balanced on the windowsill, and Dutch lets herself into it and patches Lucy in.

“What happens now?” D'avin asks.

“Unless he encrypted these files too, it should only be a few minutes before she has some information for them.”

“The files are encrypted,” Lucy says, “but it's standard encryption. Data will be unlocked in thirty-eight seconds and sorted within a minute following.”

“Thank you, Lucy.” Dutch leans against the windowsill. D'avin is still in the chair, fists clenched in his lap. “How did Bellus know to contact you? I don't think Johnny knew that you're in town.”

“He didn't, but I think one of the higher-ups must keep better track of agents' families than either Johnny or I does.” D'avin shrugs. “Bellus said that one of the higher-ups told her I should be brought in. I'm not sure which one.”

“Maybe I'll ask her. It's not standard procedure, that's all.” She frowns at the laptop's screen, where everything is moving so fast it's nearly blurred. John would be able to keep up, but tech isn't Dutch's specialty. “I'm glad to have backup, though. I don't know how much Bellus briefed you about Khlyen, but he's bad news.”

D'avin glances at her and frowns. “She said that he trained you.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“All files decrypted. Tracker files are easily identifiable. Dutch, should I stop with those?”

“For now, Lucy, thank you. What kind of information do you have?”

“Tracker number and software and passwords. Almost ready to test.”

“Show me what you've got,” says D'avin, standing up to peer over her shoulder, and Lucy obligingly brings up the specs on the device. “I've seen trackers like this before—not quite the same, probably he constructed it himself, but if he can get himself anywhere near something that acts as an antenna, it should boost the signal if we can't get one. He's smart enough to do it.”

“Presently no signal,” Lucy says, and if an AI can sound disappointed, she does.

Dutch sighs. She wasn't expecting it to be this easy, but it was nice to hope. “Please use all available processing power to try to boost the signal from our end. Let me know about anything useful you find in the remaining files, again prioritizing John's privacy as much as seems wise.” She turns to D'avin. “If you want, you can keep canvasing. She's got the processing power to keep assisting you. I'm going to look into last night's auction some more.”

He nods, sharp and crisp, every inch of him ex-military. He's good enough that he must be able to tell she's never been military or anything official at all, until the RAC. “I'll keep you updated.”

“Please do.”

*

“I can't say I was expecting to see you this soon, Duchess,” says Delle Kendry across her desk, smiling at Dutch, all slyness and purple lipstick. “You left the party before I could find you again, and it was already a disappointment, with the auction canceled.”

That much is a relief, anyway. Khlyen must have decided the price wasn't right. Dutch leans back in her chair and affects boredom. “Unfortunately I was called away. Rumors that the auction was a sham made my employers … unhappy.”

“It made many people unhappy, but it will sell eventually. It's too valuable not to.” Kendry is still smiling. “So what can I do for you?”

“You could tell me about the man running the auction. I met him. I don't much like him.”

She laughs. “People who talk too much about him don't tend to be invited to return to his events. I like you, but certainly not enough to risk … well, anything.”

The real questions Dutch wants to ask will betray her ignorance far too much, but she keeps a pleasant smile on her face. John has been missing for nearly eighteen hours by now, and she's only had four hours of fitful sleep on Bellus's orders. “Any interesting tidbits that wouldn't get you in trouble?”

Kendry hums and schools her face into boredom that mirrors Dutch's, glancing out her window. Huge, with an ostentatious view, and made of bulletproof glass. Everything about the Kendry Real Estate offices speaks to incredible wealth and incredible paranoia. “Only recently local, but came with excellent references. Didn't come to me for a home, unless he sent a lackey.” Her shrug is all studied insouciance. “I don't know much more than that, really. His reputation is the kind that comes from not having a reputation at all.”

Before he took John, Dutch was content to let Khlyen have the whole world as long as he left her alone. She's not a heroine, and all she wanted was, very simply, to never see him again. Now, though, he's changed the rules. If he's trying to force action out of her, he's going to get it, but he's not going to like it. If she can't kill him, she's going to drag him into the light, take away all the mystery his reputation is based around. “Oh?”

“The same kind, I suspect, you have. I did some discreet asking around about you, Dutch. Some people say you're an assassin, some a thief, some that you're a ghost in the system—there's even a rumor you went straight a few years ago, though of course I don't believe that for a second.”

Either Kendry is fishing, or she already knows. She's the kind to play both sides of a conflict, to inform for the police or the government when it suits her and go shopping for something that makes people fear for the apocalypse when that seems expedient. “I'm flattered you wanted to know so much.”

“It's only good business sense … and a bit of personal curiosity, of course.”

“Of course.” Business sense. Dutch isn't going to trust Kendry, but she doesn't have to trust someone to make an agreement, even a delicate one. She leans forward. “For your personal curiosity, then: he used my presence at that party to steal something from me. I would very much like to have it back. If he happens to contact you and happens to mention … well, if you'd like more to his reputation than the mystery, I could certainly tell you a few stories.”

A curve of a smile that seems much more real. “I'll keep the offer in mind, should some information suggest itself. I'm certain we can find each other, if necessary. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment to sell some commercial land and I really can't be late.”

“Of course,” says Dutch, and lingers a bit shaking her hand before she leaves.

*

Someone is following her. Someone subtle enough that she almost didn't notice, because sometimes he's ahead of her and sometimes behind, but no one dressed like a businessman on errands through the city, walking with that confident stride, should need to follow the route she takes herself on while she tries to get back to the RAC building.

Dutch lifts her phone to her ear and presses the button that will put her in contact with Lucy. “Lucy,” she whispers. “Look for me on traffic cameras since I left Kendry Real Estate, and then look for the man in the grey coat with the brown briefcase three people ahead of me. ID him.”

Lucy's response takes less than five seconds. These functions are ones they use her for frequently, and she can process them efficiently. “No ID from government banks. On ID records from yesterday as part of the team doing countersurveillance on Coren Jeers's warehouse. He's been following you since approximately one block away from Kendry Real Estate.”

Fuck. He's definitely one of Khlyen's, somehow, and he was on loan to Jeers since Jeers was the one hosting the auction for Khlyen's merchandise. Dutch knows she's jumping to a conclusion, but it's hard to imagine another scenario that fits the facts so well. “Lucy, contact D'avin, give him my location and as much information as he needs to be effective backup. I doubt he'll attack me, but I will him. Not until D'avin is in range, though.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Send me a text when he's at ETA less than five minutes, that's going to be my signal.”

“Acknowledged,” says Lucy, and Dutch hangs up the phone.

She's not going to go to the RAC with someone on her tail, but chances are Khlyen has been watching long enough that he knows where it is, so she starts on her longest possible route to it. Let them think she's paranoid about security after John was snatched from a room where he should have been safe.

About halfway along the route, her phone chimes with the text tone, and Dutch takes it out of her pocket. Lucy has brought up a countdown clock. She waits for it to reach four minutes and thirty seconds before she makes a loud point of swearing at her phone and turning around like she forgot something. Her tail is behind her again, and she catches him by the elbow on her way past and whispers “We may as well talk it out” before ducking into an empty side street less than half a block away.

Her gamble pays off. He follows her within a minute, and he lets her press him against the rough brick side of a building. Dutch doesn't like that it's clearly _letting_ her, that she can tell from the strength in his muscles and the easy way he follows her pushing that he might have the upper hand on her. That's why she's counting on D'avin.

“Where is he?” she asks. She may as well get to the important question before the violence.

“If you think I'm going to give up my boss—”

Dutch presses on his windpipe. “You mistake me. I don't give a fuck where Khlyen is. I just care that he's in my business right now. We'll try it again. Where is Johnny Jaqobis?”

“Can't find him yourself?”

“You mistake me. This _is_ me finding him myself.” He's bristling a little, preparing to throw her off, and Dutch bears down a little harder, just enough to show him she's not going to be easy to take. “He's not with Khlyen, or you would have said so.”

Stupid. Letting him know that she read something off of him is enough to make him stop humoring her, and she braces for a throw and doesn't manage to dodge the kick she gets almost instantly when the throw doesn't work. Dutch rolls to her feet again and is pleased to see that he isn't running off to report, but squaring up to fight. She uses her momentum to give him a kick in the kneecap and elbows him in the stomach when he grabs her hair and uses it to pull her closer.

He's fast—he's too fast, really, the kind of fast that's chemical just as much as it is training, and his strength is the same, but Dutch doesn't bother to fight fancy. She fights him like she'd fight anyone who grabbed her in a dark alley, with nails and teeth and fists. She doesn't need to come out of this unscathed, just upright enough to keep searching for John.

They take the same amount of hits, she prides herself on that, but he doesn't seem to feel them the way she does. There aren't bruises blooming on his face, and his mouth bled when she first punched him in it but it stopped too quickly, and Dutch doesn't like anything that could mean, somewhere in the back of her head where she isn't concentrating on dodging and lashing out.

D'avin must have started running and changed the timeline sometime after Dutch started fighting, because she knows it's less than five minutes (and at least two cracked ribs) before he comes skidding into her side street, takes aim, and shoots the man fighting her through his right shoulder before Dutch can do anything more than duck. “Lucy said you were fighting and that he's got something to do with Johnny,” he says, holstering his weapon.

“Both of those things are true. We weren't going to get any useful information out of him.” He's fallen to his knees. Dutch kicks him in his wounded shoulder, because it seems the most expedient way to get him to pass out. It won't stick, but it will stick long enough for them to shake him. “Let's go through his pockets and have Lucy scan him for devices and get back to the RAC.”

There's no phone, and hardly anything worth mentioning for weapons, but Dutch takes his briefcase and D'avin takes everything, receipts and all, from all his pockets, as well as his cufflinks when Lucy says she detects a faint signal from them. “Are you good to walk back?” he asks when he straightens, no doubt noticing the way she's hunched over her ribs.

“I've had worse,” she says, and hefts the briefcase before she starts walking.

*

“You know what Johnny would say if he were here,” says Pawter, poking at the colorful bruise on Dutch's side without anything resembling gentleness or good bedside manner. There's a reason she's Dutch's favorite RAC doctor.

“Don't tell me you're going to try to give me a speech.”

“No, I'm just reminding you that he wouldn't approve.” Pawter looks up from her injuries long enough to give her a wry look. “I'm not going to pretend one of my lectures has anything on one of his. Speaking of, is the eye candy outside really his brother? Rumors are flying.”

“He really is. I don't know how he got pulled into the agency for the case, but there it is.”

Pawter nods and goes back to her prodding. Dutch is quite sure it's not a diagnostic tool so much as it is an excuse to remind Dutch of her stupidity in allowing herself to get beat up. It's as effective in its own way as one of John's lectures. “If you aren't going to call dibs on him, I might.”

Dutch blinks, brought up short. He is attractive, she knows that objectively, and any other time she might consider it, but she's worried about John. He's always been more of a priority than anyone she was or wasn't sleeping with, and even more so now. “No, no dibs. You're welcome to him, as long as you leave him awake enough to keep working this mission.”

“Sure, that leaves me a good ten hours to work with.” She pulls Dutch's shirt back down. “Medical override, you're grounded for twelve hours. Get some sleep.”

“I can't do that. You know I can't.”

Pawter turns away, bustling through her cabinets, probably for bandages and painkillers Dutch doesn't want to use. “You're going to get Johnny back.” It's not an empty platitude. It's an order. “You're not going to do it if you're exhausted and not thinking fast. Give Lucy some overnight orders and crash on one of my cots. I'm offering the same to Special Agent Hotass out there.”

“Twelve hours is a long—”

“You know who took him. Is he going to hurt Johnny without taunting you more first?” Dutch shakes her head, hating every second of the movement. “Then you're sleeping. I won't make you turn your phone off, or go out of contact with Lucy. But your reflexes are down by at least twenty percent, and you look like you could use about three hours of crying before your sleep. I'll settle for the sleep.”

“I don't know if I can.”

“Do you want me to knock you out?” Pawter asks, an honest question. “Johnny, he's—one of the best people in this organization, probably. We do good, but we're assholes. He's good. And it bothers me, that someone took him. And I figure if I feel that bad about it, you probably feel a lot worse. He's your handler. Your friend.”

Johnny is more to her than he should be, practically everything, but Dutch can't think about that. “Don't try to make me break, Pawter. If I break I can't find him.” She nods at one of the back rooms. “Do you need to give me anything before I go and stare at the ceiling?”

“For my peace of mind, here are some painkillers. You know the procedure.” Pawter presses them and some water into her hand. “Be careful with your ribs, they're not broken but they're cracked, and he almost sprained your shoulder, so be careful there too. Want me to take care of D'avin?”

“Please.”

“Great.” Pawter opens up the door to the room with the medical cot and watches from the door while Dutch gets out of her jeans and bra and gets under the covers. She'll wake up feeling disgusting from not brushing her teeth or showering, but she can't begin to think about that right now. “You're going to find him,” Pawter says again when Dutch closes her eyes, and turns out the light.

*

Dutch's phone rings when she's going through her locker trying to find something to wear, since she doesn't want to go home. “Number unavailable,” says Lucy.

“Answer.”

“Dutch,” says Khlyen, and her skin starts crawling. “You sound like you've been sleeping. I'm shocked.”

The speakers on her phone, thanks to John, pick up everything. It's the only thing that keeps her breath from shuddering. “He's off-limits, Khlyen. The one, the _one_ thing in my life you shouldn't have touched. If you'd come to me, asked for whatever it is you want, I would have considered it. I'm aware that I owe you for a few things, even if you deserve death for a few others.”

“Very few people who die are the ones who deserve to,” he says, so calm she wants to break his jaw. “Don't worry, though, he's still alive.”

“Put him on the phone.”

“You don't get old by being foolish, Yalena. But don't worry, he's right here. Unharmed.”

“Can he hear me?”

He tuts at her, like she's not learning a lesson he's trying to teach fast enough for his taste. It's a dangerous noise. People have died because of it. “What's the first thing I ever taught you?”

“To kill whoever you told me to.” That's the wrong answer, and he doesn't bother asking her for the right one. “It's a done deal, Khlyen. I'm not going to love him less, now. Not even if he dies. Why did you call?”

“To check on your progress, of course. Smart of you, cultivating a connection with Delle Kendry. And of course Mr. Jaqobis's brother is a good addition to the team. Perhaps he's more replaceable than I assumed.”

Dutch may be a murderer, but she's never wanted someone dead as much as she wants him right now. “Whatever you want from me, just ask me. Make him a hostage. If you know I love him, you know I'll do it. Kill whoever you want, come back and be your student, I don't care.” Not least because if he lets John free, John will come for her.

“Who says I want you as a student anymore if you've forgotten so much that you can't find him? Twenty-four hours,” he says, and hangs up.

*

She briefs D'avin on her way to find Alvis. D'avin is all barely-leashed violence on the other end of the line and says he'll ask his own sources for anywhere in the city that could hold someone securely and comfortably, since he trusts her that Khlyen won't bother with dingy warehouses.

“I've got something,” says Alvis, falling into step next to her almost as soon as she hangs up with D'avin, and then whistles through his teeth when she turns to look at him. “You found trouble.”

“Pawter patched me up.” He nods, apparently satisfied. She's not sure how he and Pawter know each other, but there does seem to be mutual respect. “What do you have?”

“One of mine saw some men behind Pree's at the relevant time, street clothes, with a dark-colored suburban-mom minivan with tinted windows. He recognized one of them.” He raises his eyebrows at her. “One of the RAC's. One of the agents who hasn't been seen around the city in a while.”

Sometimes, a RAC agent goes missing, almost always one of the best. Some say it's because after getting to be the best, you get tired enough to recover, and that they're all getting out and going to ground. Some say there's an elite RAC team with missions none of them ever hear about, with extra training and modifications, and that the agents who leave without warning are getting tapped for that. Apparently, this one hired out to Khlyen. “Do you have a name for me?”

“No, sorry. I'll ask him for a detailed description later, but I thought you would want the most relevant information now.”

“I did, thanks. Any other identifying information would be great, as would a van color.”

Alvis catches her arm and swings her into the space between two buildings. “Are you going to get him back?”

“I don't know. But I'll die trying if I have to.”

“We would all prefer both of you alive,” Alvis says, a little wry but mostly painfully honest.

“I'll try very hard not to die.” She sighs and closes her eyes for a moment. She managed some sleep, but she's still so tired. “If this goes south—if Khlyen starts coming after people, and he might, keep yourself safe. I don't think he knows about you, or he would have mentioned you. He mentioned some others. Get yourself safe, and get Pree safe if you can, and Pawter should be safe inside the RAC, but if she needs to go to ground, she knows who you are. Let her find you.”

“Sounds like you don't trust the RAC to keep people safe.” Alvis approves of that, of course. He doesn't trust the RAC, and never has, even if they have an understanding. He's always made it clear that he gives his information to Dutch, not to the organization.

“It didn't keep John safe. We've got full support to find him, but it's just one mission among many.” She grips his arm. “You'll take care of them?”

“I promise,” he says, and she doesn't relax, not really, but a tiny corner of her eases, knowing that's taken care of.

*

Eight hours into the twenty-four hour deadline, and Dutch is at John's workstation at the RAC facility, looking up files on former agents. Too many of them say “location unknown” or have locked or misleading information, and Dutch hates filtering through it. D'avin is working on the scant lead they have with the minivan, so she and Lucy are filtering through too much data for it to be useful. It's all she can do, and she hates it.

Just when she's ready to scream, like it was timed, Lucy stops mid-word analyzing some data in her headset and says “Tracker signal activated.”

Dutch sits bolt upright in her chair. “Give me a location.”

“Hold, confirming.” Even a second's pause is too long. “Confirming again,” Lucy says, the way she only does when something has really puzzled her.

“A location, Lucy. Any location.”

“Accurate to within five yards. John is in the RAC building.”

Her heart sinks. “He took out his tracker.”

“This brand of tracker only works when implanted and turned on. John is in the RAC building. Triangulating signal suggests he's on the seventeenth floor.”

“The … scan again.”

“John's tracker is on the seventeenth floor of the RAC building,” Lucy repeats after a second.

Her fingertips are numb. If John came back, if he escaped, he would have called her. He wouldn't be on the secondary research and development floor, the top one of the building, the one only the very highest-level agents have access to and then only sometimes. Khlyen is enough of a bastard to do it, to put him under her nose, but the security should make it impossible. “Lucy, check for security breach on the seventeenth level.”

“No known security breach.”

Dutch takes a deep breath. “Get me in without alerting any RAC systems to my presence.”

“My security protocols don't allow me—”

“Dutch, override six three one one four eight golf four Romeo, reason: mission security.”

“Calculating safe entry.”

She picks up her phone and calls D'avin. “Listen to me: he's in this building, on a secure floor. I don't know how, I don't know why, but you need to get here soonest. Lucy is finding a way in, but it may take some time. The RAC isn't easily hacked.”

“On my way. Arm up, get all the intel you can.”

“Planning on it.” She hangs up.

Lucy has a discreet screen open on one of the monitors with scrolling text of all the steps she's going through, and Dutch reads them, the parts she understands, missing John fiercely. She can tell Lucy is doing recon, appropriating a drone from one of the lower-security research labs and sending it to scan for heat signatures on the seventeenth floor while she tries to get Dutch security credentials to get through the door, but he would have every process understood and would be suggesting ways to streamline.

“John's signal is flickering,” Lucy says after a few tense minutes.

“Proceed assuming he's still in the building,” Dutch orders immediately, tightening her hands on the arm rests of her chair. “He didn't have signal before. Whatever he figured out to boost it might be a temporary fix, or difficult to maintain.” She swallows. “Let me know if it goes out.”

There's nothing she can do but go to her locker and strap on every knife and small weapon she can find. Her gun is already in her holster, and more will ruin the line of her clothes, so she contents herself with knives and non-lethal solutions and goes back to John's desk feeling nowhere close to prepared for what's coming. Bellus is watching her from her office door, concerned, and Dutch just shakes her head. She's been updating her, but she's not fool enough to tip her hand on this. Fancy is on the floor too, flirting with one of the techs, but she can tell from the way he's never looking at her that he's watching closely. The whole RAC must be waiting for her to crumble.

“Three humans on the seventeenth floor,” Lucy reports, still scrolling through her attempts to get Dutch in as she tries avenue after avenue that all seem to be closed. “Estimated time to finding an entrance: seventeen hours, eight minutes.”

“Shrink that time.”

“I'll do my best.”

It's twenty minutes before D'avin calls again, and Lucy's progress continues to inch along. “Do you have an entrance?” D'avin asks the second she picks up.

“Not yet.”

“I do. Get out of sight, with an excuse, and give it about four minutes. Lucy, get me in her headset. Can you hear me?” he asks, doubled.

“Yes, acknowledged. I'll see you shortly.” She hangs up and walks over to Bellus, listening to D'avin and Lucy conference about the RAC's security protocols in one ear. “Updating you a bit, D'avin has a lead on the car they put Johnny in, so we're chasing it down.”

Bellus raises her eyebrows. “You think they won't have ditched the car long since?”

“It's the only lead we've got, Bellus, and I have to do something. Keep intelligence on it, and call me if you hear anything. I have Lucy working on a few other avenues too.”

“Keep me in the loop. And don't get shot.”

“I won't.” Dutch nods at Fancy on her way off the floor and goes down two levels on the stairs before she ducks into a supply closet no one bothers to monitor. “D'avin, I'm in position.”

“Give it a few more minutes so it seems more coincidental.”

She waits in the dark, breath coming short until she can't bear the waiting anymore. “Lucy. Anything that would keep D'avin from having to use whatever drastic measures he no doubt has in mind?”

“Nothing yet,” says Lucy.

“There are three people up there, and one of them is Johnny,” says D'avin. “Chances are I can't make it to you. Can you beat the other two, even if they're trained like the man yesterday?”

“Yes.” She'll have to.

“What if one of them is Khlyen?”

“Then I'll put a knife in his throat.”

“As long as we're all clear,” says D'avin, and Dutch hears the wail of the emergency alarm, the one for real emergencies, chemical spills or nuclear ones, the one that means everyone needs to get off the property, no matter the priority of their current project, no matter the security on their floor, and it throws all locks but the most important wide open and focuses security on immediate threats. They'll start clearing the building floor by floor, starting with the most important ones, as soon as the security teams can reach their safe suits, but it gives Dutch an opening.

“Thank you,” she breathes, and starts running.

*

Dutch is lucky, on her way up to the seventeenth floor. She avoids everyone, with the benefit of the knowledge that the alarm is a fake, and the locks are still engaged, but Lucy can get through them more easily, with security focusing on other kinds of breaches.

“D'avin, what's your situation?” she whispers as she gets past security. “Lucy, directions?”

“Life signs are to your left,” says Lucy.

D'avin is panting. “Busy. Rendezvous at the place we found the flash drive. Text when you get him and then destroy your phone. Who has that address?”

“Probably the RAC does, if that's what you're asking.” She shakes her head, even though he can't see her. “Go to a bar called Pree's, say you know me, ask for Alvis Akari, and wait in the upstairs room. It's not a safe location, but I trust the people.”

“Understood.”

“Do you have a connection with Lucy once your phone is destroyed?”

“Tracker in my shoe, so she can find me but I can't hear her. Get me something else to use when you come.”

“Will do. Keep safe. Lucy, mute his feed please.”

It's quiet on the floor, behind the blaring of the alarm that's masking her presence. There are no whirring machines, nothing at all out of the ordinary. No one knows what's happening on the seventeenth floor, but it's high-security. If John has been in here since he was taken, the RAC should know. Khlyen has power, can manipulate easily, but it should be impossible for him to get inside the RAC, especially considering Dutch told them everything about him when turning herself and John over for the bounty on their heads and begging for a job.

It should be impossible, but apparently it isn't.

“Around the next corner,” says Lucy, and Dutch pauses long enough to get her gun out. She isn't going to fight them, and they go down with a gunshot just like anyone else. They only have to stay down long enough for her to get John and get out.

Dutch wants to ask D'avin's status, and if this close Lucy can tell whether John is in distress or conscious or even if it's him, and not his tracker planted in someone else's arm to get Dutch arrested. She can't risk asking too many questions, though, and none of them is important enough to risk blowing her cover.

Instead, she peeks around the corner. Two men in front of one door, staring impassive around, like the blaring, ear-damaging alarms don't bother them at all. One looks familiar, someone she might have seen in the halls a few times. Another doesn't, but they're wearing the same uniform, and it has the RAC logo on it.

Dutch ducks back behind the wall before either of them can notice her. “Lucy, please confirm to the best of your ability that it's John behind that door.”

“Based on my scans, eighty-seven percent probability that John is in this location. Sweeps are on the fourteenth floor.”

Good enough. Dutch comes out of her corner again, and this time she comes out shooting, getting one of the guard in the thigh and the other in the shoulder. There's return fire, but she shoots again, twice, center mass for both. It won't kill them, but it will distract them, and they're both still readjusting when she gets in close enough to get a syringe out of a pocket, get the needle uncapped, and put one of them out. They're both taking the injuries too well, moving too fast, just like the man D'avin shot yesterday, but she has desperation and surprise on her side.

The guard she injected takes too long to go down, but he goes, and she kicks the other one in the face while he's hunched low over his gut, hears the crack of bone and steps over him to get the door open, letting Lucy break through the electronic lock as easy as breathing and going into whatever room they're holding John in.

It's an office, and an office decorated exactly to Khlyen's taste, always rich and exemplary, screens and sumptuous colors and gadgets disguised in old-fashioned ways. It hasn't just been built in the last few days, not with the name plate on the desk that says _Head of Covert Operations_ in engraved block letters.

John is on the floor, tied to a chair that he's tipped over, and he's staring up at her like he can't quite believe she's here and he has his whole body strained to press his arm against the long metal pole of a lamp—an antenna, for his tracker. He realizes at the same time she does that he doesn't need it anymore, and goes limp all at once.

“Tracker not active,” Lucy says, urgent.

“Lucy, it's okay. I've got him. Get us an exit. Tell D'avin.”

“Dutch,” says John, and he's hoarse, he's bruised up and tied up and Dutch can't be embarrassed by the animal sound that tears itself out of her throat as she crosses the room, stumbling to her knees and forgetting about untying him, about leaving, just puts her arm around him and her face so close to his she can feel him breathing. “Dutch, you're late.”

Her laugh is a panicky sound. “Johnny, John, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, this should never have happened, we've got to get you away.” She pulls away and reaches for a knife, slices through his ropes as fast as she can and rolls him away from the chair. She can almost hear his joints creaking, and she can't look away from his face, so she can see the winces he can't help as he unbends. “Can you move?”

“Theoretically. Dutch, these are RAC alarms, where—”

“It's the RAC building.” She helps him to sit, runs her hand up and down his spine like that will massage the ache out of it. “Has he moved you?”

“No. I've been here the whole time, but how can I—”

Now that he's sitting up, and mostly under his own power, Dutch indulges herself and wraps her arms around him, presses her face into his neck so her lips are nearly on his pulse and she can imagine that she feels it, beating against his skin, telling her over and over again that he's alive and that they're going to be fine. “It's rotten,” she says quietly. “Inside out. I don't know how long Khlyen has been here, but it's too long. We need to get out of the building and find your brother and then we need to find our next step.”

“My brother? No, that's for later, for now—okay.” And even when he's been through hell and it's her fault he's so steady and so sure. “For the record, I am not one hundred percent sure I can stand right now. Is my girl in your ear?”

“I knew you were just using me to get to Lucy. She's here. Lucy, do you have an exit for us? John's mobility is compromised.”

“Sweeps one floor below you. Blueprints show roof access on this floor.”

“Where would we go from the roof?”

John taps her on the arm, and she takes the headset off halfway through Lucy's answer, something about jumping that John clearly can't do. “Lucy, it's me. Roof exit's no dice unless there's a helicopter coming. Can you find Pawter?” He pauses. “Get her to code medical override on this floor, contaminants, and then tell her to go to ground, find Alvis if she can. That buys us a few more minutes.” He looks up at Dutch. “Everyone else?”

“Alvis is on alert, I told him to look after Pree. D'avin's going to Pree's, it was the best I could think of.”

“Okay. Call Pree, too, Lucy, tell him his third-favorite customer wants a rare steak but only if it comes with complimentary fries and then tell him to grab my brother and give him the address and alarm instructions for safehouse three.”

He's still hoarse, but he sounds more alert with every word, and Dutch finally forces herself to let go of him. She's no good to him now if she lets herself be compromised by the simple fact of finding him again, having him next to her. “I'll get sightlines for an exit,” she says, and stands up, throws Khlyen's shades open. The tenor of the alarms is changing, going to medical alert, and John is still murmuring on the floor, getting them a way out, slowly stretching his legs out.

The roof on the building nearest them stops two floors down. A long jump, too long for John to make right now. If she could jump and get a bridge of some kind back to him, that would be one thing, but there's nothing useful on top of the building. It could land a helicopter, but she doesn't have access to one of those right now.

“Hey,” says John, and she spins around. He's looking up at her, watching her like she wants to watch him, like she'll disappear if he looks away. “I've got a way out. You'll like it. It's a really stupid plan.”

“Never leave me again,” says Dutch, too honest, and goes to pull him to his feet.

*

They get into an Uber a block away from the RAC building, blending into the cloud of employees all over the sidewalks after descending a mostly-dismantled fire escape, and stop in a coffee shop of John's choosing twenty minutes later.

“We'll call another in a minute, I assume,” says Dutch. He's moving more easily now, but she still puts her arm around him to help him inside.

“I need coffee and something with a lot of sugar in it.” He groans when she heaves him onto a couch in a corner where she'll have a good view of the patrons and the street. She got John and got out, so she won the game, but she's probably going to be a fugitive to the RAC soon, and she's sent four friends on the run now, and the RAC isn't a safe haven or a shelter anymore. “But then, yeah, we'll call another. And probably a third.”

“Great.” She kisses him, because it makes people relax, to be able to put a label on strangers, and because it's another reminder that he's alive and here, and when she pulls away he's holding her hand. “I'm going to order you a latte and a muffin and a bottle of water, because you're dehydrated, and we're going to figure out where we're going next.”

When she gets back to the couch, he's talking into his headset again, and he smiles when she sits down next to him and smiles when he sees she's chosen a brownie for herself as well as the muffin for him. “Pree and D'avin are on their way to a safe spot. You still need to explain how that happened, but we've probably got other priorities. Khlyen is RAC?”

“Looks like.” She takes a bite of her brownie and frowns at him until he opens the bottle of water. “I just don't know how long, if … if the RAC is responsible for my training, and I've never been away at all, I need to know that. I need answers.”

“Then we'll get them.” Simple as that.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No. Just talked a lot, mostly about how I don't deserve you.”

“The opposite is true, I assure you. John—”

“None of it was your fault.”

Dutch can never believe that, and he must know it, but she's grateful that he'll insist. “So your video said.”

He pauses, hums. “So you found that. And my will?”

“I copied all the files but didn't look at anything but your tracker.”

He nods and takes a drink, then reaches out for his muffin. “We need to go to a computer cafe I know of. I've got a data bomb, a virus that will wipe all of my tech, keep it out of the RAC's hands.”

“And I've got a bolthole, a cache of weapons and IDs and clothes for us, enough to give us the chance to regroup. We can find a safe place and reach out to our friends.” She leans into his side. “For now, though, I'm just glad that you're safe.”

“I knew you would find me,” he says, the exact balm she needs, and offers her a bite of his muffin.

*

Dutch's new burner phone rings while she's sitting up in a hotel bed, John asleep with his hand wrapped around her leg like he's worried she's going somewhere, and she picks it up. “Hello?”

“I must say I'm impressed,” says Khlyen. “The RAC will be recovering from a security breach for weeks, especially with the loss of its best agent soon after the loss of her handler. Not to mention the doctor who called an unwarranted medical alert, don't think I didn't notice that.”

“The only thing that surprises me,” she says, “is that you weren't there. Wouldn't you want to taunt me, give me one last obstacle?” He doesn't answer. “Or maybe you knew you went too far. I told you, didn't I? He's off-limits. All my people are, but him most of all. This is what I'm going to remember, the next time you want to toy with me. This, not you saving my life and teaching me to protect myself.”

“You can't kill me, Dutch. You've met a few of my special cases, over the past few days. It's amazing, government money. They don't worry about ethics if it gives them soldiers who move faster, heal faster, do more damage. Do you think I'd give them any upgrades I don't have myself?”

“Upgrades aren't much good against a bullet in the brain.”

He laughs. “So you're declaring yourself a traitor to the government? I _am_ the RAC, Dutch. You've been ignorant this long. You can pretend ignorance, keep all your friends safe, keep taking my missions.”

Dutch wants to be sick at the thought that he's been the one pointing her at targets since she came to the RAC, that the people she's killed or followed have still been in his name, at his behest. And he's hurt John, if that's the case, just the same way as he hurt her. Made them both into weapons. John will always be her salvation, because she'll never allow him to become what she was forced to be. “Your organization lured me in and told me I was doing good, Khlyen. Gave me a taste for it. I'm going to do it for real now.”

“We'll discuss it. You and young Mr. Jaqobis must be very tired,” he says, and hangs up on her.

When she looks at John, his eyes are open and he's watching her. “Go back to sleep,” she whispers, even though she wasn't whispering on the phone.

“Come down here.” She does, without arguing, lets him pull her under the covers and wrap his arms around her, her head tucked under his chin like he wants to protect her. “We don't have to go on a crusade, we don't have to get into a war,” he says, the cadence like a bedtime story. “We can make sure our friends are safe and we can run away. I've got a house you'll like, on the southern coast of Australia, near the beach.”

He's warm, and solid, and breathing, and the offer is so tempting, but Dutch marks it as a back door, a last resort, and shakes her head just a little, not enough to dislodge him. “I want to do this. Are you with me?”

“Always.” As though there's nothing she could ever do to make him leave her. Dutch lets herself believe it, for tonight. “Are you going to sleep with me?”

Dutch shouldn't. She should keep watch, because Khlyen knows a number he shouldn't know, and must know their location. He could come for them, but Lucy is keeping watch, and she thinks his love of games will hurt him, that he thinks this round is over and that she won't be proactive about the next. “Tell me about the house in Australia,” she says.

John lets out a long, slow breath and tangles his fingers in her hair. “The curtains are white, and there's always sun, but there's a shady spot next to the porch that's perfect for a hammock,” he starts, and Dutch lets herself drift off to the sound of his voice.


End file.
